by Sarah Tucker
‘It’s good to hope for happy ever after, Hazel.’
‘They are for fairy tales. I can’t believe them, Joe. I wouldn’t be able to do my job any more. I’ll be telling clients that love conquers all. And to go back and pore over the original love letters they sent each other and look at their kids and ask them to fight for it. Fight for the relationship because it’s worth it. Instead, what do I do? I rub my hands, add up my hours and invoice them for £300 an hour excluding VAT for their pain and my time. This job is an internal discipline for my heart. We strip the emotional away from a situation which is highly charged and see the wood for the trees. That is what we do. We tell people what they are entitled to, not what they deserve which is a subjective, altogether more emotive area. That is what I do. And I do it well. I’ve done it well. And perhaps, I can’t do it anymore. Perhaps I see a moral dilemma when I think, hey, I’m making money out of someone else’s misery. What’s the value in that?’
‘The value in that is that if we weren’t involved it would be far messier and far more miserable than if we were. Good divorce lawyers do their job, explain the situation to the client and calm the situation down. They lay the material facts out. The counsellors deal with the emotional side. We are not counsellors.’
‘I know that. Perhaps we need to be. Have more empathy.’
‘Hazel, you know as well as I do, if we had more empathy, we wouldn’t take on half the clients we do, because we would have a big sign up on our door saying NO WANKERS ALLOWED. That would seriously cut into our client base. Don’t you think?’
‘Yes. I’m just going through a phase. An “I’m in love” phase and I’m…’
I’ve said it. I’ve said it. I’ve told Joe I’m in love. I haven’t said I’m in love with you, but I’ve said I’m in love, which can’t leave much to his imagination. And he thinks I’m silly now because I’ve only known him several months and I feel I’m behaving like a child. It’s like calling myself Hazel Ryan in a Freudian slip, which you only do when it’s on your mind. And this is ridiculous. And I’m furious with myself. I haven’t been this vulnerable for years. Please God let him ignore that. He heard.
‘And I’m in love, too. And it’s wonderful and special, like the woman I’m in love with. And I’m going to hold on to it and work at it, and see it for what it is.’
I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect that response. I’ve got so used to cool, calm, collected responses from men, I didn’t expect I love you, too. I haven’t met or perhaps, if I’m honest with myself—haven’t encouraged a man to be so open, one who is so collected at work, but who I’ve made into, well, a loved up boy. For so many years I’ve thought about the men I’ve met and thought about how they’ve treated me. And how I’ve treated them. I would ask my father, who died over seventeen years ago now of cancer, what he thought of them. I would ask in my head silently to myself what he thought of them. There was always a no that came back. Sometimes I felt I could even hear his distinct laughter and see him shake his head at me. A whispered no which echoed through my mind, that I didn’t even tell Angie or Fran or Brian or even Sarah about. And now with Joe, I ask him again and I don’t get a no from my father’s whisper. I get a maybe. I get a maybe and a smile.
I can feel myself falling. I can feel myself wanting to believe Sweet Charity finds a love somewhere in Central Park and lives happily, not just hopefully, ever after.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hazel Makes a Decision
Angie drops her wax.
‘What an awful time you’ve had, Hazel. All this has happened. Bloody hell, girl.’
I’ve told her about the wedding that was called off, about Fran’s baby and about Doreen.
‘I didn’t tell you last time, Angie, because, well, I was still in a state of shock and you were asking me about Joe and stuff and if I was ready to fall in love and I didn’t want to burst into tears. But it had to happen. And it happened in the office, in front of Joe, when I heard about someone trying to commit suicide. It just triggered the tears.’
‘Well, stuff always happens together, doesn’t it. And it’s good to cry.’
‘And Sarah’s going off to college. I’m losing my little girl.’
‘You’ll have plenty to do and she will be in contact for money if nothing else.’
‘Sarah’s very independent, she’ll try to deal with things by herself if she can.’
‘She will, but she’ll be in contact. How’s work?’
I think about work. Work is fine. Brian has been very sweet and kept me busy and given me a larger office to make slightly untidy. I’ve kept him informed of everything and he’s allowed me to take time off, but thinks work is best, and working harder is best still. Which I agree with. Although it’s avoiding the tears that’s toughest.
‘Have you cried much?’
‘Yes, loads. In private and in front of Joe.’
‘And has he been supportive?’
‘Very. Very supportive. But I don’t want to depend on him too much. I’ve fallen in love with him, Angie. I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with him and I’ve made myself too vulnerable. I feel as though I need to be needed and need company and need love and need to be cuddled and nurtured a bit. And there’s nothing quite as boring as someone who’s needy, especially a woman.’
‘I don’t think so. Sometimes when you allow your guard down, Hazel, it’s the way people can get to know you and it seems that Joe wants to get to know you. You come across as independent, but I don’t think you’re as independent as you appear. You’ve been thrust into the situation. By your divorce, your lifestyle, the fact you have a busy life and you can manage your own finances and have had to do this by yourself. But I don’t think you’re independent, Hazel. You’re a little girl, too, sometimes, but you know you can’t be. Now Sarah’s flying the nest, you don’t have to be a mother anymore, not a day-to-day one anyway. You can be a child again if you want to be. Do you want to be?’
‘I don’t want to be a child again, Angie. I’d like to have some fun. I’d like to do some of the stuff on my action list. I’d like that villa in Tuscany, learn that language, write that book.’
‘What’s stopping you?’
‘I am.’
‘Have you discussed this with Joe?’
‘Yes, he says I should go for it.’
‘How is it going with him?’
‘Very well. I still have that will he, won’t he feeling about Fiona sometimes, but he’s been so straight with me all along, I think that’s over for good.’
‘Is he serious?’
‘Serious in the fact he says he loves me. Yes, he’s told me that. We enjoy each other’s company to the extent we don’t have to talk, we just sit in restaurants and look at each other and don’t have to say a word. Nauseating to look at I’m sure, but wonderful to be a part of.’
‘Have you heard from his ex again?’
‘No, not since she appeared at my doorstep that time when I was with the girls.’
I think back to the time, when Doreen was still alive and laughing with us about her boob job and I start to cry. Angie hugs me for a long time. Stroking my back and saying nothing. Just listening to my sobs. After a while, she pulls me away.
‘See, you do need mothering occasionally.’
‘Yes,’ I blubber.
‘Have you met Joe’s mum?’
‘Yes, I’ve met his mum and dad. They’re lovely. Absolutely perfect.’
‘So everything is perfect.’
‘Yes, everything is perfect, then why aren’t I happy, Angie?’
‘Because you’ve lost a best friend and it’s made you think what is important to you and that time is precious and you have to live for the now and you want it, whatever it is, to start now, and everyone’s life is taking a new turn—Valerie’s, Carron’s and Fran’s and yours is as it was before Doreen died. Yours is constant and you feel you should change but you don’t want to because, horror of all horrors, I think you’re happ
y. And maybe you’ve never really been happy until now. Scary, isn’t it?’
‘Something always goes wrong when I say I’m happy, Angie.’
‘With pleasure there is always pain,’ she says as she starts to wield the green wax and rip again, which is slightly less painful than before but only slightly less.
I return to my office, sore between my legs and probably looking sore round the eyes. I find Joe waiting for me in my slightly untidy, slightly larger office. He looks white with nerves.
First thought—oh fuck. I knew it. I just knew it. I had to admit I was happy out loud to Angie, didn’t I? And hey presto, life fucks me right back and goes aha. Fooled ya. Let’s screw up your happy ever after, girl. And now, Joe is telling me, he is telling me he’s going to go back with his ex. I just knew it. And bugger, I’ve run out of tissues. Take it on the chin, Hazel. Just smile and listen and sit down.
He kneels at my feet.
‘I want to know if you would do me the honour of being my wife?’
He is on bended knee in my office at two on a Tuesday afternoon, looking up at me expectantly. This is very odd. I don’t expect this. It’s not as unromantic as first time round, when David proposed in Waitrose over the scallops, but it’s unexpected. I’m a romantic and midweek afternoon in my office is stretching it a bit, even if it’s the thought that counts—not enough thought has been put into it for me. I say nothing.
‘I know this must come as a bit of a surprise, but I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I’ve been thinking about it since the first time I met you. And realising how precious time is. And when your friend died, I realised just how important time is, and Sarah’s nearly gone and I want to show I’m committed to you and to our relationship and I love you, Hazel Chamberlayne. So will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
I am still lost for words which is unlike me. I, too, realise Doreen’s death has made me think differently about spending time and not wasting it and living it to the full. Though do I want to live it as a Mrs again or is this me time? My time as a single woman, with Sarah at college and being a support to my friends but also delivering some of my action list. And if I became a wife again, would I be able to do all this? I love Joe, or think I do, but am I at a different life stage to him and does that matter? I seem to want the same things he does, have the same values, the same ideas. I hadn’t thought until now that the ten years mattered but he wants marriage and I don’t know if I do. Not now. I want to learn new stuff and not go over old ground, because that’s the way I see it. Marriage, children, mothering and seeing them grow and love and learn and leave. And do I want to do that all over again. Live that life all over again. It wasn’t a bad life first time round, despite David’s foibles and controlling bullying ways. And Joe’s much, so much better. Not the bully David was and probably still is. Do I want the same pattern again for the next twenty years, albeit learning from the last twenty or do I want to follow a different path, a more selfish one, one that expands me in a different way, that doesn’t involve children and marriage and husband? Or is that what life is all about and not just a social control to keep us in place and in fear and in love and on side. Hey, what the hell do I know?
So I smile at Joe and say, ‘No.’
Pause.
‘I’ve been there, Joe. I’ve been married and had children and I want to live a different life, not another twenty years of the same. I know I love you. That’s what I know. I just don’t want to live by the same rules, the same confines as I did first time round. I’ve learnt those lessons and I want to learn new ones. I want to broaden my horizons, perhaps buy my place in Tuscany and live there some of the year. I would love you to share that with me, but I want to live by my terms and share my life with those I love. I realise I don’t want to do this any more. This going to court and dealing with people like Mr Benson over and over again. It’s not doing me any good. I can still see the joy in the sunshine on Monday mornings, but how long for? How long will I be able to see sunshine when there is none? I want a different view, not because I’m restless, but because I want a different view now. A new challenge while I still have the health and energy and enthusiasm to do it with a full heart and bank balance. And I want to experience all those things that Doreen can’t and I’ve hopefully got more than two weeks. Do you understand?’
Joe looks at me as though he doesn’t, as though I’ve broken his heart or his pride or both. He stands up, glazed-eyed, says nothing, turns and goes, closing my door quietly behind him.
I stand there looking at the closed door.
Knock. ‘Can I come in?’
Brian’s voice and face appears, beaming.
‘Is it congratulations then?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I said no.’
He looks shocked. ‘But I…’
‘I know, Brian. I’ve said no because I don’t want to get married again, not because I don’t love Joe. I do. I love him and understand what love is all about. I think I’m at a different stage in my life to him and don’t want what he wants, which is understandable and is perhaps the barrier to loving and being loved by a younger man. I’ve already learnt the importance of love and friendship and most important of all, being a mother and it’s wonderful, but perhaps I’m the Peter Pan now. Perhaps I’m the one who wants to learn to fly and wants his freedom after all. Would you be dreadfully upset if I resigned, Brian?’
‘Hell, Hazel, you know how to surprise a man. First, saying no to Joe, then offering your resignation. Have you had one of those visions or something?’
‘No, not at all. Okay, Doreen’s death had something to do with it. It made me think about what else I want to do in life. I want to share it with Joe, if he will let me, but I want to do it on my own terms, not anyone else’s and I can’t do it working here day in day out.’
‘Can’t you just take a sabbatical?’
‘I don’t know if I’m coming back.’
‘Does anyone? I would rather live in hope that you’re coming back than close the door completely. It’s never completely closed, Hazel.’
‘You’d do that?’
‘Yes, I would. I would do that.’
I smile and hug Brian.
He gives me a kiss on both cheeks and tells me Jennifer called after me and asks if she can bring in Horatio to see me and I say fine. As he leaves he says, ‘And you’re silly saying no to Joe. He’s a good egg is Joe. He may be young but he’s got a wise head on his shoulders.’
‘If he loves me, he will let me go.’
Brian smiles. ‘I think differently. How about, if he loves you, he may not.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Italian Job
I am no longer a partner at Chamberlayne, Stapleton and Ryan. I’ve resigned but Brian says he will consider it a sabbatical and if I don’t return, he’ll look for someone else. He says there will never be another me. And demands I keep in touch. I say I will. I don’t have a mortgage but I am looking for a villa in La Marquee, one of the prettiest regions of Italy, as yet undiscovered by BBC Holiday programme or Daily Telegraph travel writers. I’m looking for a house for no more than £100,000 that requires little renovation, has some land and a view and three bedrooms and a large kitchen and friendly, preferably Italian neighbours, whose families have lived and worked there for ages and would love a beautiful forty-something woman living amongst them, for six months of the year at least.
I had thought about buying in Florida. Not Orlando, because although I love Mickey Mouse, I’m not that enamoured with theme parks. Not Naples, because it put me off when I drove there and the first thing I saw was a cemetery, albeit a well-tended one. I wasn’t interested in Spain or Portugal (too many English) Cyprus or Turkey (too far and too hot), and although France was almost there—Italy won over because I love the chaos and the way the people are about life, (they are never black and white about anything) and though I would never marry an Italian (I’d get too fat) I love the idea of flirting with them. Plus, I love th
eir country.
Sarah supports my idea to buy a holiday home, as do the girls who all want to visit and help out. But Fran is now seven months pregnant, Valerie is still breastfeeding Nelly and Carron, bless her, is thinking about marrying this man, who I’ve yet to meet but sounds wonderful in and out of bed. I miss Doreen dreadfully. A gap that makes me wake up at four in the morning crying, feeling empty. That sort of miss. I miss her energy and aggression and fire and wish she was here to see me pursue something else on my action list. Like the fact I’m learning French and Italian now and getting on rather well. I’ve booked my next skiing holiday, a diving instructor’s course and riding lessons, the first one of which I’ve already taken. The erotic fiction will have to wait as I’m not being inspired at the moment, not having a man in my life. Instead, I’m writing a diary about my adventure, hopefully turning it into a bestseller that will make me a fortune, so I can buy another, larger place in Italy, perhaps Siena or Rome or Milan. I don’t know. These are dreams but I can make them real. I know that now.
I look at three different properties, each within my budget which Henri Chattani, local garlic-smelling rotten-toothed estate agent has shown me. All have views, all require no renovation, and all I want to buy. One has an olive grove that reminds me of the time when Joe said he would take me to Verona and make love to me in an olive grove and never did. And probably never will. So I’m torn about choosing that one. The memory is both wonderful and sad. I love olives but perhaps it will bring back painful memories, but I can’t always think about olive groves that way. So I choose that one. I check out the land, complete the papers. I don’t hear from Joe. I know he’s still working at the partnership because I speak to Brian and speak to Jennifer and keep Angie updated with all my progress and Mick as well, who may be coming out with the girls later on, with or without Jane of whom he confides he is ‘very fond’. I wonder if that was the affair Doreen suspected, but I say nothing. Not the time or place.
